"According to Plan"
Gorta Jax (NPC+)
Kemma Tyris aka Banin (NPC+)
Date: Vadris 6, 5 ABY
Location: Deep space en route to Tae'Karada, Outer Rim
***
"I should warn you that the wrong words now will result in your death."
As sentences went, it was hardly one to inspire a smile. And yet a smile was
what Gorta Jax managed, even as he raised a cloth to his forehead to
intercept the thin trickle of blood that was making its way slowly down
towards his right eye. He raised the simple looking datapad he held in his
other hand for the visual benefit of the fearsome looking individual before
him on the screen.
"The data is secured, Mun'Tak. I am on my way to you now. We had some
trouble in..."
"Your troubles are not my concern, human. My only concern is for the
information. Our patience has already been sorely tested, but if you deliver
to us you shall be rewarded as promised. Construction must begin
immediately."
"Of course, Raek Mun'Tak. The next time I speak to you will be to hand this
to you personally."
"Assuming you do, you will not find the Jau ungrateful," Jax's taskmaster
grunted, sounding anything but. "But cross us and there will be no escape
from our vengeance."
Jax nodded gravely. "I understand. You may begin your preparations. I will
be back in Tae'Karada without delay." The Jau grunted tersely by way of
acknowledgement and terminated the communication. Jax sighed and swivelled
his chair around to face the figure standing silently behind him.
"I must say, all that 'there will be no escape from our vengeance' stuff
does wear rather thin eventually," he sneered. Kemma Tyris offered a
humourless smile, her nose rankling at the acrid smell still hanging in the
air of the bridge.
Though Jax's little fleet had managed to secure the escape pod in which
Kemma had ejected, almost unnoticed, from Cirran and Lerrah's stolen ship,
the action had not come without cost. Jax's own flagship, a cruiser that had
been disguised to resemble a bulk freighter, had taken quite the pounding at
the hands of the Imperial star destroyer as it manoeuvred after the pod, one
of the bridge systems overloading and causing the minor injury that Jax had
received. Around them the crew were busy with jury-rigging replacements to
important systems and damage control teams were active around the ship. Even
as Jax and his crew licked their wounds safely in deep space, around the
planet of Lianna light years behind them floated the mostly molecular-level
remains of several of his fighters and both of the Corellian Corvettes he
had convinced to fight for him.
"Captain Serrat certainly lived up to my initial impressions of his
anti-Imperial fervour," Jax reflected.
"He thought he was fighting for a cause. For the New Republic." Kemma
replied, somewhat wistfully. "Do you suppose he ever guessed the truth?"
"The way he rammed that Victory-class suggests otherwise. Convenient,
certainly - he definitely gave them pause for thought, and our own losses
might have been significantly higher otherwise, which would have been a
nuisance."
Kemma looked at him incredulously. "A nuisance? We've already lost half a
dozen fighters on what you told Republic Intelligence Command was a training
mission. How do you propose to explain those losses? They must be suspicious
already."
Jax gave his protege a condescending look. "My dear, we need no longer cling
to the hems of the New Republic. Once we reach the Tae 'Karada system, I -
we- will be in a position where we no longer answer to them ever again.
And indeed, I believe they will soon have concerns of their own that will be
considerably more pressing than finding out what we have been up to."
"And what of my brother? You promised me revenge."
Jax merely shrugged his shoulders. "Fear not, Banin. Even if your murderous
sibling makes it back to Tae'Karada - doubtful, what with the condition of
the ship he stole, and the fact you are no longer shadowing him to protect
him from the numerous bounty hunters that may well still be interested in
his capture or demise - he is returning to a system enslaved. A system in
which we will soon find ourselves members of the ruling class. In the
unlikely event he survives his arrival, we will soon have him in the palm of
our hand once again. You have been here for most of my conversations with
Mun'Tak - he gives the impression that the Jau are certainly very good when
it comes to finding those they wish to find. Your brother is now nothing
more than a minor irritant - relax and enjoy the fact that after our
considerable efforts and risk, things are now going according to plan."
"But - " Kemma started.
"There is no but. He is beyond our reach now, and we must deliver the data
as agreed. You must extend your patience a little longer. And if you wish to
complain further, I suggest that you remember that it was you who allowed
him to escape on the planet's surface."
Turning away to indicate their conversation was over, Jax focussed his
attention on overseeing the repairs, leaving Kemma in thought as she cradled
her broken arm. Perhaps it was the fault of her own incompetence that the
girl had been able to blindside her - but why had Cirran taken her out of
the ruins of the data bank, and not put a blaster bolt in her skull? This
was one question that for now she could not answer, but she suspected she
would nonetheless ask it of herself all the way back to Tae'Karada.
"The Loneliest Number"
by: Lani Vissip
Location: Jedi Safehouse, Thanatos
Date: Vadris 6th, 5ABY
***
The hum of the pale yellow training sabers could barely be heard over the thumping rhythm of the grindcore techno that filled the apartment. In the center of the room a woman whose fiery red curls fell to her waist worked her way through the various lightsabers forms as she had been taught by her Master. An observer familiar with the classical Jedi weapon would note that both the blades of the training sabers had been shortened considerably, making them more along the length of very long knives. Sweat gleamed and ran freely down her nude body as she stepped and stabbed and slashed, incorporating the standard sweeping attacks of the Jedi with the graceful dancelike steps of the Echani. A pair of training remotes darted through the air and occasionally their simple droid minds took a potshot at the padawan. More often than not these bolts were deflected but Lani still sported a few welts from where they penetrated.
The months of isolation had passed exactly like this. Train, meditate, train, eat, train. Her body was at the peak of its performance, a peak greater than any she had previously encountered in her very long training. The simple training room she had set up in the apartment she lived in wasn't much, but it was enough to at least keep her up on her acrobatics. The occasional foray into the streets of Thanatos to purchase supplies was the only break she ever took in her endless cycle to push herself to even greater accomplishments, and even that simple pleasure was looked on with annoyance. Master Darr had mentioned that she pushed herself too hard, that it was impossible to achieve perfection and especially at the costs of one's self. But still she tried, still she pushed. She would be the best, the fastest, the strongest. When others spoke her name it would be with fear.
A flash of light and searing pain in Lani's backside snapped her mind from those dangerous thoughts. The elegant dance halted as she smirked at the little remote. "Thank you, you little trickster," she said to it mockingly. Her mind had been drifting like that recently, especially into that dangerous realm. Maybe she was training to hard, pushed herself too much. It had certainly killed any aspect of a social life that she had once held. She never interacted with any of the other padawans and even Master Darr only came around once in awhile to check on her progress. She had even hoped to see Jeron again, but he seemed to have vanished into the desert.
The remotes, seeing that she was halting her training for now, lowered themselves into their charging stations and shut off. Lani also turned off the music so she could collect her scattered thoughts. Something big was coming, but what it was she was unsure. There was an itching between her shoulderblades that always appeared when something loomed on the horizon, almost like a Foretelling, and it was never good.